


Room 341

by genderfluidnightmare



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bickering, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, How Do I Tag, M/M, Sick Character, Sick Draco Malfoy, except they weren't really enemies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:02:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27104671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genderfluidnightmare/pseuds/genderfluidnightmare
Summary: At 27, Harry Potter is happy. He's got good friends, a good job, everything the former Boy Who Lived could have ever wanted. That is until he walks into Room 341 on the third floor of St. Mungo's and his entire life changes for good.On an indefinite hiatus.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Minor Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger
Comments: 15
Kudos: 91





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> First off, thank you for reading. I'm very excited about this, I've even got the first few chapters already written, and the entire fic all planned out. This will be so sad. Like I'm probably going to cry writing this sad.  
> Check out my other fics on Wattpad, where I write under the same name that I do here.  
> Thank you for reading, enjoy!

Harry’s Wednesday is going about as well as a Wednesday can go. His patients are civil, if not pleasant. Even old Mr. Dorian has something nice to say, and he hates Harry with a passion that can rival Lord Voldemort’s. Even so, he's looking forward to the end of his shift, and a nice night in front of the telly. The perfect way to wrap up a pleasant day.  
He wasn't counting on Draco Malfoy.  
Hermione hands him the folder with a sympathetic grimace. “New patient,” she winces. “He’s er- well, you’ll see.”  
Harry smiles jovially at her. “How bad could it be?”  
She shakes her head. “You’ve no idea, Harry.”  
Harry shoots her another grin and pushes his way into the hallways of St. Mungo’s. Room 341 is at the end of the corridor. Harry opens the door and strolls in, humming cheerfully and opening the file to look at the basic information.  
A thin figure lays in the bed, his white-blond hair a mirror to the woman beside him.  
It takes a minute to register just who is in the hospital bed. Stringy blond hair hangs over his skeletal face. His face is frighteningly thin and gaunt and it's only by his wide, piercing eyes that Harry even recognizes him as the boy who terrorized his school days.  
Harry recovers quickly and pushes the rest of the way into the hospital room. “Good morning!” He trills. “I’ll be your nurse for the duration of your stay.”  
He shakes hands with Narcissa Malfoy, who sits by the bed with a tight expression and fingers clenched together so tightly that her knuckles are turning white. He turns to shake Malfoy’s hand but freezes under his withering stare.  
Harry swallows and takes a step back. “I have a few questions before I begin with the diagnostic spells. A healer will be in as soon as I’m done to give a more thorough examination.”  
“Great, more bloody questions,” Malfoy mutters. His mother shoots him a quelling glare.  
“Great,” Harry echoes helplessly. 

* * *

Harry groans as he slides out of the room, the door closing with a quiet click behind him. Hermione looks up in mild amusement from her spot against the wall near Room 341.  
“How was it?” She asks.  
“Somehow, he’s worse than he was in school!” Harry sinks down on the floor and leans back against the wall.  
“Did you at least get an idea of what might be wrong?”  
Harry shrugs and hands her the folder from his spot on the hospital floor. “Fainting spells, chronic weight loss. He mentioned that his magic has been off, but I can’t make any sense of it. I’ve never seen anything like this.”  
“Could be stress,” Hermione muses. “Thanks, Harry.” She ruffles his hair and slipped into Room 341.  
There is a cry of dismay, probably from Malfoy, before the door closes again. Harry allows himself a brief smile, before getting back up and dusting himself off. 

* * *  
In all honesty, this wasn’t how Draco had expected his day to go. Sure he’d lost twenty pounds in three months, and he hadn’t gone a day without passing out in nearly a month, but it isn't like he's dying. He's just stressed, and his mother is overreacting as usual. He is fine.  
Even if he wasn't able to cast more than a lumos without breaking out in a sweat.  
His mother never listened to reason. So now he's stuck in a hospital bed, listening to Granger of all people drone on about healthy sleep and eating habits, as if Draco hadn’t got this lecture enough already.  
It's just his luck, isn't it? Granger and Potter there at his lowest moment. Of fucking course.  
His mother’s grip tightens on his shoulder as if she's noticed he isn't paying attention. He tries not to glare at her but turns his attention back on Granger, who is finishing her lecture with the air of a satisfied professor.  
“Thank you, Healer Granger,” Narcissa says, all cool civility.  
Granger smiles. “We’ll keep you a few days, just so you can rest up and so we can run a few extra tests. Then you’ll be back home.”  
“More tests?” Draco manages. Talking had become more energy than it was worth the past few days.  
“Just in case. There’s probably nothing wrong aside from malnutrition and lack of sleep, but it never hurts to be cautious.”  
“You think it might be more serious?” Draco asks again.  
“I’m sure it’s nothing.” Her smile is becoming strained.  
“But-”  
“Thank you, Healer Granger,” Narcissa stops him with another firm squeeze to his shoulder. “You’ve been immensely helpful.”  
Draco scowls as Granger stands.  
“Your nurse will be in with your dinner in a moment,” She says, still smiling the forced, cheery smile. “Mrs. Malfoy, you’re welcome to stay until visiting hours end.”  
Narcissa gives her a tight-lipped smile as Granger leaves. As soon as she's gone, she sags against the chair with a weary sigh.  
“That was- humbling.”  
Draco snorts and crosses his arms. “That was humiliating.”  
She reaches out and smooths the hair across his forehead. “Would you like me to stay?” She asks gently.  
“I’m 27, Mother, I’m not a child.”  
She bites her lip and tries not to smile. “Would you?”  
He swats her hand away. “If you insist. Merlin, woman!” He's most definitely not pouting.  
She smiles this time and settles back into the ramrod position in which she usually carries herself. The door swings up once more as she settles in, and Potter walks in.  
c “Mr. Potter,” Narcissa greets him as her ‘people’ face, as Draco had called it as a child, slides into place.  
Potter grins that stupid smile that never fails to set Draco’s blood boiling and puts down a tray on the table next to Draco’s bed. A small meal is laid out upon it, as well as a few potions vials with murky, swirling liquids in them.  
“You may head down to the cafeteria if you would like, Mrs. Malfoy,” Potter says. “I’ve just got to run a few diagnostic spells before Mr. Malfoy eats.”  
“You’ll be alright?” She casts him a worried glance.  
He waves a hand at her dismissively, ignoring her stern look and turning away. Potter’s lips twitch as he looks at the pair. Draco shoots him a dirty look. His mother squeezes his arm and stands to leave, her cobalt dress sweeping behind her.  
Potter turns to Draco and pulls out his wand. “You’ll get your dinner in just a moment. I’ll cast maybe one or two spells, just to check you over in case there’s something amiss.”  
Draco shrugs and closes his eyes, bracing himself for the feeling of the spell. He hates the spells healers cast on you. They feel like someone had dumped cold water all over you, like slamming into a brick wall while speeding along on a broom.  
Potter is not what he expected. A warmth settles over his body, feather-soft, and with a faint smell like the lavender candles, his mother keeps around her study. He opens his eyes to look up at Potter, whose own eyes were shut tight in concentration.  
He looks- older than Draco remembers. Not the skinny teenager he recalls from school, but the Savior he's meant to be. It is . . . surprisingly attractive.  
Potter’s eyes open, a translucent image rising up with red and blue lines crossing across and figures that Draco can't make sense of. He watches as Potter carefully looks it over, muttering every so often and marking something down on the clipboard he keeps clamped in his hands. He slices his wand across, dissolving the image before casting once again, this time drawing up a chart that hovers in front of him where Draco can't see.  
His eyes rove across it, and he makes little hums of approval at whatever it is he sees. Then his gaze catches on something and his brow furrows.  
“That’s odd.”  
“What is it?” Draco demands. “What’s wrong?”  
Potter shakes his head and waves his wand again, another chart appearing. Then another, and another, until they're surrounded by a sea of images and charts that hover and swam through the air. Potter jots something down then pulls out his wand once more. He waves it, mutters a word.  
“Harry, I do hope this is important,” Granger’s voice rings through the room, coming from the tip of Potter’s wand.  
Draco watches wordlessly as Potter says, “There’s something strange here. I think you better come down. There’s only so much that I can make of these and I need your opinion.”  
Granger hums in annoyance. “Alright, I’ll get Roberts to take over here. Mr. Dorian’s having a bad spell.”  
Potter snorts. “Thought the bastard was looking peaky this morning.”  
“The poor man is nearly two-hundred years old, Harry.”  
“Excuse me,” Draco cuts in. “But can we get back to me please?”  
Potter glares at him but says to Granger, “Yeah, you better get here. See you in a bit.” He waves his wand once more and shoves it into the pocket of his scrubs.  
“Potter.” Draco’s voice is tight with fear. “Is there something wrong with me?”  
Potter looks at him uneasily. “It’s too early to tell.”  
“Please, just tell me what it was.”  
Potter hesitates. “I really shouldn’t-” He looks at Draco’s pale, gaunt face. Something softens in his expression and he sighs. “You’re magical core, it’s far too weak for someone of your magical ability.”  
“I’m hardly powerful,” Draco snaps.  
“But you’re not powerless either. A few of the other tests I ran confirmed it. Your magical core is weakening, and far too fast.”  
“So what? I’m losing my magic?”  
Potter chews on his lip and looks towards the door. “I’m not qualified to diagnose you, but-”  
Just then, Granger bursts in. Her frizzy hair, stuffed up in a bun, is coming apart, and her eyes are wide and angry. She looks half-crazed as she halts next to Harry.  
“That man!” She takes a shuddering breath. “Pardon me, Mr. Malfoy.” She tries for a smile, fails, and settles for a somewhat neutral expression. “What seems to be the problem?”  
Potter slides over the folder and conjures up a few charts. Granger looks over them quickly, her expression darkening with each passing second. The roiling in Draco’s stomach grows as well.  
“I would have called someone else, but this is exactly like it,” Potter whispers. “I mean look at this!” He points to the folder. “It’s nearly all of the-”  
“Shh,” Granger looks over at him listening in and leads Potter over to a corner where they turn and whisper furiously to each other.  
His mother slides into the room, a small paper bag clutched in her manicured fingers. She looks to the healers and then to Draco, an alarmed look growing on her face.  
“What’s happening?” She hisses, sliding over to him.  
Draco swallows down panicked tears. They'll do him no good right now. “I don’t know. Potter was doing the tests and then- he just-” he takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Mum-”  
She grabs his hand, her nails digging into his skin. “Breath, darling. Breath.”  
He gulps down air, panic still rising in his throat.  
Her eyes focus on his, the same steely gray, urging him to take slower, deeper breaths.  
Finally, it evens out, the panic attack dying down. Granger and Potter are hovering nearby, looking nervous and grim.  
“I’m sorry if we frightened you, Mr. Malfoy,” Granger says primly. “We’ve just got to run a few more tests.”  
Draco nods faintly, still holding his mother’s hand.  
The two healers pull out their wands and begin casting. As charts fill the room, a pit of dread opens in his stomach.  
Something is happening, and it's far from good.

* * *  
Harry looks down at Malfoy. His chest rises and falls with each breath. His face is softer in sleep, more innocent and peaceful. The door clicks open and he shakes himself from his revere as Hermione walks in.  
Her mouth is set in a grim line, her eyes betraying the bad news she bears. Harry’s heart sinks.  
“I was right then?”  
“I don’t know for sure, but-” she looks at her hands. “We’ve got a few hours until we know. Until then, we should let him sleep.”  
Harry nods. Narcissa Malfoy had left with little resistance, promising to return for her son in the morning. Harry didn’t have the heart to tell her that it was unlikely that Malfoy would be leaving anytime soon.  
“God, Mione, if you hadn’t been researching it, I never would have caught it.”  
“Maybe it’s early enough, maybe he’ll be alright.”  
Harry gazes at her doubtfully.  
She swallows and brushes at her eyes. “I’ve never- I’ve never lost anyone before.”  
“We won’t, not this time,” Harry says firmly. He’d found that it didn’t do to get caught up in the future. You couldn’t stop something from happening then, but you should do what you could to help now.  
He doesn't bother to mention that he's never lost a patient either.


	2. Chapter 2

It was entirely unsettling to wake up in an unfamiliar hospital bed, with Potter in a nearby chair looking at him with a tense expression.   
“I’m sure this fulfills some sixth-year fantasy of mine, but what on earth are you doing, Potter?” He mumbles, too sleep-addled to truly censor himself.   
Potter shakes himself. Dark smudges are marked underneath his eyes, and his usually messy hair is on a whole new level. His eyes scan Draco over once, and his mouth tightens. He rubs his eyes and wordlessly pulls out his wand.   
He shakes it, mutters something, and begins speaking into the tip as he had done yesterday.  
“What is that you’re doing?” Draco asks. He may be sick, but nothing short of unconsciousness can quell his curiosity towards all things magical.   
“Some spell Mione created to help the healers contact each other more easily,” Potter says, with barely a glance towards his patient. He turns away and busies himself at a table nearby.   
Soon, Granger bursts through the door. Her hair is back in that frizzy bun, and Draco is sure that she is in the same white robes as yesterday. There's brown stain near her waist that hasn't moved since yesterday, except that it appears to have grown.   
“Well, are you finally going to tell me what the hell is wrong with me?” Draco snaps.   
The pair shoot him a look and turn to each other.   
“We’re waiting for your mother to arrive,” Potter supplies before letting the healer pull him away to a corner.   
At 9 a.m., the beginning of visiting hours, Narcissa arrives. She opts for more casual attire today, dressed in gray pants and a blue sweater. She slides into the seat beside the bed and presses her hand into Draco’s shoulder.   
“Have they figured it out yet?” She casts a glance at the healers. To any onlooker who didn’t know her, she’d look apathetic. Draco knows better.   
He pats her hand. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”  
She glares at him but stays silent as Granger and Potter turn and made their way over.   
Granger has a small stack of papers in her hand, that she shuffles nervously from hand to hand before setting down on the bedside table.   
“Good morning, Mr. Malfoy, Mrs. Malfoy,” She nods formally to both then clears her throat. “How are you?”  
Draco snorts. “Like shit, get on with it.”  
Narcissa’s nails dig into his shoulder and he glares at her.   
“We’re well, Healer Granger as I hope you are?”  
Granger nods. Potter watches from nearby. “As you know, we found something peculiar in your tests yesterday.”  
Draco watches her with nervous intensity.   
“Harry mentioned it. Your magical core is reaching dangerously low levels, something we would usually find in a much older witch or wizard.”  
Draco wrinkles his nose. “Are you saying I’m old, Granger?”  
She smirks then shakes her face back into a professional grimace. “No, no. You see, a little known fact, but the reasons for magical folks’ long lifespan is the fact that our magical core is what keeps us alive. When we’re young, it is still growing and changing. We balance out somewhere between twenty-five and thirty. Then, once we reach the age of about fifty or sixty, our magic begins to fade.”  
Draco shivers.   
Granger nods. “It’s scary to think of, but a part of the natural course of life.”  
“What has this to do with anything?” Narcissa snaps, finally losing some bit of her composure.   
“Mr. Malfoy’s magical core shouldn’t be weakening. He’s twenty-seven and at the height of his power. Yet it appears that it is.”  
Draco’s heart stutters. “So what you’re saying is that I’m prematurely aging?”  
“Not quite. Since my promotion to a full healer, I’ve been researching a rare, little-understood disease known as the Infirmi Disorder, a wizarding wasting illness. It’s similar to Muggle cancers, and as far as I can tell, is genetic.”  
Narcissa’s face was pale and taught. “Are you saying I did this to him?”  
“I’m saying that either you or your husband carried the gene that made it possible, yes,” Granger says, face equally grim.   
“So what’s going to happen to me?” Draco asks, for once all anger and haughtiness gone from his voice.   
“It’s been a few decades since there was a case actually,” Granger says. “It’s made my research difficult. From what I can tell, something has begun to consume your magic, and as a result, your physical body had begun to waste away. I’ve been working towards a cure for months but didn’t have any test subjects. Only the cells of long-dead patients. With your consent, I’d like to work with you to develop a cure, hopefully in enough time to save your life.”  
“How long do I have?”   
“It’s hard to say. Based on your condition, I’d say a year, maybe two. It’s possible that it will recede and you’ll have a full life, but that’s only happened a few times in recorded history. Most patients don’t live past thirty.”  
Draco swallows. One or two years? He hardly understood the words. Was he really dying?  
“We’d like a moment alone, to process and make a decision.” He can see Narcissa’s mouth move, can hear the words dimly past the roar of panic in his ears.   
He doesn’t register Granger’s nod or the pair’s words as they stand. He holds off long enough for them to leave before the wall of terror comes crashing down. 

* * *

Harry watches the pair from the small window in the door. Mrs. Malfoy has her arms around her son as he shakes. Something in his chest is breaking.   
Hermione touches his shoulder and he looks over at her. She gives him a strained look and gestures him away.   
“I know it’s awful, but this really couldn’t have come at a better time. Roberts has been on my arse to get some results for my research. If I don’t have some sort of breakthrough soon, he’s threatening to shut down the whole project.”  
Harry nods, sighing heavily. “He’s a dick.”  
“He’s our boss.”  
“Doesn’t change the fact that he can’t stand that a woman and a muggle-born could be a better healer than he is.”  
Hermione flushes but doesn’t contradict him.   
Daniel Rogers, the head healer at St. Mungo’s, is a crotchety man of sixty years, who had reigned uncontested at the hospital for well over twenty years. That is until Hermione had decided to join Harry in becoming a healer when they were only eighteen, and still trying to figure out who they were without Voldemort shadowing their every move. She had quickly risen through the ranks of training in record time. What should have taken five or six years, as it had Harry, had taken her only two. She’d become Roberts’s assistant only a year ago, all while Harry was still working his way through his apprenticeship. He isn’t due to become a full healer for another two years.   
“Do you think they’ve had enough time?” Hermione asks anxiously   
“A few more minutes, Mione. They’ve just found out that Malfoy could be dying.” That’s why they balance so well as a team. Harry brought up the slack in Hermione’s bedside manner, while her attention to detail made sure that their patients were in safe hands.   
Finally, they push back through the door. Malfoy sits, even paler than usual, staring at his hands with a frightened expression. Mrs. Malfoy nods in acknowledgment as the two healers pause in front of them.   
Harry feels like a scolded schoolboy as he puts a hand on Hermione’s wrist to stop her from jumping straight in too quickly.   
“Whatever you need to do. To fix me,” Malfoy jumps in before Harry can open his mouth.   
They all gape at him, even the seemingly unflappable Mrs. Malfoy.   
“Whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it. I’m not-” His voice breaks. “Whatever you need from me.”  
Hermione clears her throat. “We can give you potions and spells to help ease the symptoms for now, but there’s only so much we can do. I’ll be running all sorts of tests before I begin developing a cure. Harry will be your nurse from day to day.”  
Malfoy nods, lips tight as if this was all that he expected.   
“Mione is the best healer here,” Harry says in a calm, even voice. “She’s never lost a patient. If anyone can heal you, it’s her.”  
Malfoy nods and says, “Thank you,” in a voice so small that Harry thinks he imagined it until he says again, stronger this time, “Thank you. I know we don’t have the best history.”  
Hermione tries for a grin. “I won’t say that it’s water under the bridge, but I’d be a damn poor healer if I let a patient go based on something as trivial as a bad history!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on Wattpad under the same name. I post new chapters of Room 341 every Monday.   
> Thank you for reading, and feel free to leave a comment telling me how you're liking this so far!


	3. Chapter 3

Malfoy is awake when Harry comes in the next morning. He stares at the ceiling, with wide unblinking eyes.  
Harry tries not to disturb him, bustling around the worktable as quietly as he can. Still, Malfoy turns to look at him with a curious expression.   
“Potter,” He says, in a demanding tone.   
Harry tries not to grimace but turns around with what he hopes is a cheery smile. “What can I do for you?”  
“What are you doing here?”  
“My job, Mr. Malfoy,” Harry says, as helpful as he can.  
Malfoy’s lips curl into a sneer. “None of that Mr. Malfoy shit, and that’s not what I meant, you twat.”  
“I’m not sure what else you could have meant.”  
“Why are you a healer? Aren’t you meant to be Head Auror or something?”  
“Obviously not,” Harry tries not to smile. He’s got that question enough that the answer is easy. “I decided that I’d had enough with destroying, and wanted to do some healing instead.”  
Malfoy sneers again. It looks strained on his thin, pale face. “As if you ever destroyed anything,” he sneers  
Harry forces his smile back and turns to Malfoy with a tray of vials. “You’ll need a few potions before breakfast.”  
Malfoy eyes the vials cautiously. “Somehow I don’t trust you with those things.”  
“I am a professional. I know what I’m doing.”  
“I’m not hungry.”  
“You are sick with an illness that saps at your strength, Malfoy. I don’t care if you aren’t hungry. You. Will. Eat.” Harry allows a bit of anger into his tone as he slams down the tray.  
Malfoy takes the first vial and downs it like a shot. “‘Urgh,” He makes a face and reaches for the next. “Only since you asked so nicely.”  
Harry watches until he’s taken each potion then takes another tray, this time of the breakfast served to each patient at St. Mungos, and sets it in front of Malfoy.   
Malfoy looks down at the limp, soggy bacon and dry scrambled eggs dubiously. “I’m expected to eat this crap?”  
“You’re expected to eat, yes.”  
Malfoy groans and picks up one of the two pieces of bacon and sniffs it. “Merlin, it’s cold!”  
“Just eat it,” Harry sighs, before stalking towards the door.  
“Where are you going?”  
“I have other patients that need to eat, Malfoy.”  
Malfoy pouts but says nothing has Harry pushes through the door.

* * *

“Potter!”  
Harry keeps his back turned, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge him.   
“Potter!” Malfoy shouts again, putting a little more emphasis on it.  
Harry steels himself and turns around. “What can I do for you, Malfoy?”  
“What are you doing?”  
“Are you fucking-” Harry takes a deep breath, stopping himself from snapping completely. “I’m working on some tests for Healer Granger.”  
Malfoy smirks, obviously pleased with himself. “What for?”  
“Just examining some things from other patients. Nothing quite so severe as what you’ve got, but pressing enough that she asked me to take care of it.”  
“Oh,” he says. Then, “I’m bored, can’t I do anything other than laying here?”  
“You can’t get up. Overexerting yourself right now is the last thing you need.”  
Malfoy scowls. “Can’t I do anything?”  
“I could get you a radio or a book or something,” Harry offers. He’s used to bored patients on bed rest. They usually cheer up once they have something to do.  
Malfoy sighs. “A book? Mother’s bringing me mine when she comes to visit this afternoon.”  
“Anything in particular? I’ve got a muggle novel in my bag that Hermione’s forcing me- sorry, lending me.”  
He smirks at that. “A muggle novel? What’s it about?”  
“You’d read it?”  
Malfoy’s face hardens. “I’m not a fucking blood purist, Potter.”  
Harry held up his hands. “I didn’t say you were.”  
“Give me the book. It’ll do for now.”  
Harry tugs it out of his bag and hands it over. “It’s not mine, so be careful.”  
With a grunt, Malfoy leans back and opens the book, a clear dismissal.  
Harry rolls his eyes and turns back to his tests.

* * *

“So, how is he?” Hermione asks, sliding into the seat next to Harry at the worn table in the St. Mungo’s break room.   
“No worse than he was yesterday. He’s as much a hellion as he was back in school. Minus the bigoted stuff though.”  
“Well that’s something,” Hermione says, chewing thoughtfully on her Chinese takeout. “I’ve got a lead of sorts on the cure.”  
“Yeah?” Harry grins broadly. “I know you’ll figure this out.”  
Hermione smiles tightly. “Our standing theory on infirmi is that it’s genetic, right?” Harry nods and she continues. “Well, I’ve been doing some reading. Muggles have been developing a way to edit a person’s DNA. Really it’s only meant to be done on a fetus, but if I could develop a spell or potion that mimics such a thing but on an adult, perhaps I could edit out the genes that are making Malfoy sick.”  
“Brilliant!” Harry smiles. “You’ll find a way, you always do.”  
Hermione smiles shyly and shrugs. “It’s a long shot.”  
“You can do it.”  
Hermione smiles again. “I hope so. For Malfoy’s sake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on Wattpad under the same name. I post new chapters of Room 341 every Monday.  
> Thank you for reading, and feel free to leave a comment telling me how you're liking this so far!


	4. Chapter 4

Ron is waiting outside Room 341 when Harry arrives. His forehead is creased and his arms are crossed as Harry approaches down the corridor.   
“Hermione didn’t come home last night,” He says.   
“Well, good morning to you too,” Harry smirks as he tucks the two disposable coffee cups in the crook of his arm and pushes through the door and into the room. Ron follows him, still scowling.   
“She didn’t get home ‘til midnight the day before that.”  
Malfoy is awake and staring expectantly at the door. His face breaks into a smile as Harry comes in. “Finally! Where’s my coffee?”  
“Right here, you menace.” Harry sets one of the cups on the bedside table and Malfoy snatches it up eagerly, blind to the other man in the room.   
“Harry!”   
“Right, Hermione didn’t get home,” Harry mumbles, waving a hand to Ron as he bustles over to get Malfoy’s morning potions. “Have you tried her lab yet?”  
“Er-”  
“C’mon, Ron,” Harry sighs. “You know how she gets about this project. I had to forcibly drag her away the other day so she’d actually eat.”  
“Yeah,” Malfoy snorts. “She’s a workaholic, that one.”  
Ron glares but doesn’t say anything to contradict him. “Hello, Malfoy.”  
Malfoy hums and takes a sip from his cup. His mouth splits into a wide grin and he practically moans with delight. “If there’s one thing wizards can’t get as good as the muggles it’s coffee.”  
“That’s not even coffee at this point,” Harry points out.   
“You’re drinking muggle coffee?” Ron gapes.   
“He’s not a blood purist, Ron. He’s the one that made me go get him some from this shop,” Harry taps the logo on his cup.  
“Yeah!” Malfoy sticks out his tongue at Ron like a child and settles against his pillows cross-legged.   
Ron shakes his head. “I can’t deal with this so early. I’m going to check Mione’s lab.”  
Harry hums in response, head buried in a cabinet. Ron shakes his head and exits.   
“You’re chipper this morning,” Harry says, finally emerging, triumphantly clutching a glass vial in his fingers.   
“You didn’t tell me Weasley was coming.”  
“I didn’t know. He’s just looking for Hermione.”  
Malfoy pouts and sips his coffee. “I don’t like surprises.”  
“That makes two of us.”  
Harry plunks a tray in front of Malfoy and snatches his coffee away. Malfoy squawks in protest. There’s a whipped cream ring around his mouth and nose that he wipes away with his sleeve. He’s dressed in a cozy jumper and pajama pants today and his hair is floating around his head in an untidy halo.   
“Potions, then coffee.”  
“Bully.”  
“As I recall, you were the bully.”  
“Only because you were so easy,” Malfoy grimaces and downs one of the potions. “Repulsive.”  
“You can almost stand for longer than five minutes again. They may be gross, but they’re certainly working.”  
“That doesn’t mean I have to like them.”  
Harry collapses into the chair by Draco’s bed and grins. “Did you finish that book I lent you?”  
“Oh yes, ages ago,” Malfoy disappears over the side of the bed and emerges with the book clutched in his hand. “I tossed it there when I finished.”  
Harry chuckles. “Did you like it then?”  
Malfoy shrugs. “It was alright. A bit verbose, but entertaining.”  
“Yeah, Hermione’s always going on about reading more and all that. I just do it so she’ll leave me alone.”  
“I like her. Never thought I’d say it, but she’s fun.”  
“Reading and fun are not the same things.”  
“Says you, idiot.”  
“You want another book then? I could steal one from Mione’s lab. She’ll be distracted enough.”  
“Ooh, yes thank you. Get one with dragons this time,” Malfoy’s eyes light up.   
“Alright, dragons for Draco, will do,” Harry smirks.  
“Shove off,” Malfoy scoffs, but a flush of scarlet is growing on his cheeks.   
Harry waves behind him cheekily as he walks out the door. Hermione’s lab is practically on the other side of the building, and it’s not a trek that Harry likes to make often. It takes him past the children’s ward, and there’s always plenty of young kids who are ecstatic to see Harry Potter himself in St. Mungo’s of all places.   
He manages to make it without incident, however and is soon rapping at the door before sidling in. He’s found through a few unpleasant incidents that it’s best to let Hermione know there’s someone coming in first.   
Today, Hermione is huddled around a complicated contraption on one side of the spacious room. Bookshelves line the stone walls, overflowing with books, folders, and loose papers that Harry is sure are probably too important to be left around like this. Her desk is an equally disastrous mess, with a stack of books propping up an old, yellowing tome covered in spidery handwriting and a few yellow sticky notes.   
Ron lounges on the worn couch in the center of the room that separates the office area from Hermione’s more fickle experiments. He nods blearily to Harry and gestures for him to sit. Harry shakes his head silently and makes his way to the bookshelf that Hermione’s dedicated to the parts of her extensive novel collection that had outgrown her shelves at home.   
Hermione hardly looks up as a puff of smoke billows into her face. She coughs and screws up her face in concentration. Ron checks his watch.   
Harry eases a book with a colorful cover. A quick scan of the back confirms that it at least has mentions of dragons. “Still won’t leave?” He asks Ron as he comes back towards him.   
“I’ve been here an hour. She hasn’t even looked up.”  
Harry winces. “Sorry, mate. I’ll make sure she leaves when I do. I’m sure I can convince Roberts to give her the day off tomorrow.”  
“It’s him that’s doing this to her. She’s way too stressed about getting this cure on that man’s schedule. He’s such a prick.”  
“We all know it. It’s only a matter of time until he retires though. Then it’ll be Mione running this whole thing.”  
“Merlin, what a day that’ll be,” Ron laughs. “That for Malfoy then?”  
“Yeah, he asked for dragons,” Harry holds up the book. “He’s a menace.” There’s something fond in his voice.  
“Like him much, do you?”  
“Oh, Malfoy’s actually quite pleasant,” Hermione’s voice cuts in. They both look up in surprise as she comes over.   
“You’re hair’s on fire, love,” Ron points out.   
Hermione frowns and pats at the smoldering patch of hair. “Oh, hm. I should fix those stray sparks.”  
“Well, I’d better go. Malfoy will be expecting his book.” Harry waves as he leaves. Behind him, Ron has stood and is pressing on Hermione’s arm gently, trying as best he can to get her out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on Wattpad under the same name. I post new chapters of Room 341 every Monday.  
> Thank you for reading, and feel free to leave a comment telling me how you're liking this so far!


	5. Chapter 5

The most surprising result of Malfoy’s stay in St. Mungo's is Harry’s newfound friendship with Narcissa Malfoy.  
Well perhaps it isn’t the most surprising, but it's certainly a close second.  
It starts when Narcissa joins him in the St. Mungo’s cafeteria for lunch one afternoon, three weeks after Malfoy arrives. This continues for a week, a week in which thanks and apologies for the past are exchanged. After that, they go out to lunch nearly every day. She is a lovely woman, Harry finds, with sharp wit and an even sharper sense of humor.  
Of course, it only takes a week before Malfoy catches on.  
“Dear God,” he says one afternoon as Harry and Narcissa arrive in Room 341 together. “Please don’t tell me that you’re actually friends.”  
Harry tries not to grin. “Have you finally figured it out?”  
“Mother, please tell me you aren’t friends with this heathen.”  
She looks pointedly and says, “It’s none of your business who I’m friends with, Draco.”  
Draco flops back, pale and pouting. “This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me.”  
“You are in the hospital with a disease that has a 10% survival rate, Malfoy.”  
He only glares and crosses his arms. His mother smiles and crosses the room. She places a stack of books on his bedside table and kisses his forehead. As she’s grown more comfortable with Harry over the past few weeks, she’s also shown more affection towards her son in his presence.  
“I brought you a few more books, darling. I have a few meetings to attend to, so I won’t be able to stay for long today.”  
He nods petulantly and reaches for one of the books.  
Harry watches them, something in his chest tightening as Malfoy settles down with his book and Narcissa takes her seat beside him. He looks down at his own work only to find that he can’t seem to concentrate. He settles for throwing discreet glances up at Malfoy as he tries fervently to read his reports.  
Malfoy’s face as he reads is something that Harry has been trying to translate for days now. Lines of tension in his face relax as his eyes scan across the page. Hair that has grown past his ears falls into his eyes and he brushes it back with long, nimble fingers. Harry tries not to think too hard about the feeling in his stomach or the reason that he finds Malfoy so fascinating to look at.  
* * *  
Draco’s head hurts. Quite badly too.  
“Potter,” He groans. “Potter!”  
He’s splayed out on his hospital bed with his head over his eyes and his book lying forgotten on his chest. His head pounds like someone is striking a hammer against the inside of his skull.  
Potter materializes from wherever he was working out of Draco’s sight. “What’s wrong?”  
“My head hurts,” He mumbles, shifting miserably. “Make it stop.”  
“Another headache?” Potter’s brow furrows and he takes a step back, his eyes already assessing and searching. “That’s the third this week.”  
“Yes, now make it go away!”  
Potter nods and disappears. Draco does his best not to cry.  
A vial is pushed into his hands and he drinks it, eyes screwed shut to everything. He keeps them shut, mumbling out, “Would you turn off the lights?”  
The light switches off, and Draco lets himself relax. He feels Potter’s magic wash over him, hears the muttered words of spells, and the small hiss he makes. He can’t make himself care enough to wonder what it means because he’s already sliding into sleep.  
The last thing he knows before he slips into unconsciousness is a soft hand on his forehead and someone drawing a blanket over him.  
* * *  
“It’s getting worse.”  
Hermione looks at Malfoy, curled up on his side, and asleep. Her face is pale and drawn as she listens to Harry’s explanation of what he’s found.  
“This is bad,” She murmurs. “This is really bad. I’ve made no progress in the past few weeks. Roberts has me running around the hospital half the day and I barely have time to do anything.”  
“Bastard. He wants you to fail.”  
“Yeah,” She walks over and inspects him. “He’s lost weight.”  
“Twenty pounds in a month.”  
“This is really bad,” Hermione says. “I don’t know if-”  
“You’ll do it, you have to,” Harry stands up quickly. The panic in his stomach at the thought of Malfoy dying- it’s more than he would consider normal. He doesn’t just care about losing a patient, he cares about losing Malfoy. “You can do this.”  
Hermione shakes her head. “Let him get a good night’s rest. I’ll get someone else to cover Roberts ‘requests’ tomorrow. We can talk with him about everything tomorrow. I have a few ideas for some tests we can run.”  
Harry nods and casts another worried glance at Malfoy. “Okay.”  
She looks at him, finally seeing how panicked he is. “We’ll figure it out. He’s not in any real danger yet. We’ll keep an eye on things. He’s going to be alright.”  
Harry nods wordlessly, eyes still fixed on Malfoy. He lets Hermione pull him out of Room 341, half-listening to her as she discusses her ideas.  
* * *  
“I’m dying.”  
Harry glances at Malfoy in amusement as he walks in the door of Room 341. Malfoy is laying on his bed and staring at the ceiling.  
“Are you?” Harry smiles and sets down his bag. “Another headache?”  
“Wha-well yeah, but no. That’s not what I meant.”  
Harry only hums in agreement and goes to get Draco’s morning potions. “I have a new potion for you to try out. It’ll help prevent headaches.”  
“You aren’t listening. I’m dying.”  
“Oh,” Harry says. “That.”  
“I don’t really want to die. I mean, I did a long time ago, but I decided a few years ago that living is loads more entertaining.”  
Harry nods absentmindedly and makes a mental note to request a mind healer on Malfoy’s behalf. “I don’t think you’re going to die.”  
“What’s the survival rate of this again?”  
Harry pointedly ignores the question and slams the tray down next to him. “You’re not going to die.”  
“How do you know?”  
“Because I won’t let you. Now take your potions,” Harry snaps.  
Malfoy sits up and reaches for the first vial, a smile growing on his face. He finishes the vials in silence, watching as Harry settles into his chair with his reports and forms.  
“You care about me,” He says, at last, still grinning a small, gleeful smile.  
Harry looks up and scoffs.  
“No, you do! Harry Potter actually cares if I live or die!”  
“Shut up, you twat. Of course, I care,” Harry mutters, his face already burning as a blush climbs his neck and cheeks.  
“We’re friends now,” Malfoy settles back with a self-satisfied air. “You can’t escape it.”  
“Oh Merlin,” Harry rolls his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I update this every Monday. Check out some of my other works on Wattpad under the same username. Feel free to leave a comment telling me how you're enjoying this so far and thank you for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, right.  
> So technology issues mean that Room 341 is pretty much on an indefinite hiatus. I'm really sorry.

The pain sets in slowly. It starts with headaches, then stomach pains, until random aches and pains begin to plague him day and night. Draco sleeps fitfully and eats little for days, long enough that Harry worries the end is coming, far sooner than any of them had predicted  
Harry isn’t sure at what point between forcing potions down Malfoy’s throat and clenching his own hands into fists at his pained moans, that Malfoy has become Draco. But he has, and at that realization, Harry also realizes something much worse.  
He likes him.  
He likes the way he smirks before he says something so utterly boneheaded that even Harry rolls his eyes. He likes the way his hair, now brushing his shoulders, falls into his eyes as he reads. He likes his casual sarcasm and biting wit. He likes the softer, kinder man he’s become, even if he hides that person behind nearly impenetrable walls most of the time.  
And it’s becoming increasingly harder to see him in this state.  
* * *  
Harry sits at Draco’s bedside, debating the benefits of taking his hand and risking him waking up or someone walking in. The embarrassment might be more than he could bear, but right now he needs the confirmation that Draco is still alive and still there. He’s so painfully thin these days that Harry worries he’ll dissolve into nothing if Harry turns his back.  
In the end, he decides against it, settling instead with resting his elbows on his knees and pillowing his chin in his hands, watching Draco with a worried intensity. He doesn’t notice Hermione coming in until she clears her throat.  
She smirks, in a strange self-satisfied kind of way as Harry jerks back and sits up straight, acting as if he’s been caught doing something immoral.  
“Hey, Mione!” He forces some cheer into his voice. “What brings you down here?”  
She’s still smiling a little as she says, “Just checking on our patient.”  
Harry’s fake grin fades a little.  
“Not good, huh?” She gives him a sympathetic look that he does not care for at all.  
“He’s been like this all week. He can barely eat and he sleeps most of the time.”  
Hermione purses her lips and takes out her wand. With barely a wave, shimmering lines of magic sketch out a chart. She scans it, frowns, and recasts.  
“I’ve already checked. Whatever you’re seeing, it’s real,” Harry says glumly, slumping and resting his head back in his hands. “It’s accelerating. Whatever it is that saps at his core.”  
“This is not good.”  
“At this rate, he’ll be dead within a year,” Harry says, trying to ignore the pinpricks of tears in his eyes.  
Hermione shoots him a look and steeples her fingers underneath her chin, already deep in thought. “A year- that’s not very much time.”  
They talk for a few minutes, Hermione tossing questions as she paces the room, and Harry responding as best he can. It’s well past the end of both of their shifts when Hermione pauses her passing. Her hair is tossed today in her usual bun, the frizzy curls escaping and bouncing around as she stops suddenly.  
“I think I can throw together a few potions to help with the pain. Enough to keep him somewhat normal and awake. It’s not much, but it’ll help him feel better, and right now quality of life is what we’re going for.”  
Harry’s heart jumps to his throat. “Mione-”  
“Look, Harry. I know- I know it’s not easy. But we have to prepare for the possibility that he’s-”  
“You don’t understand, he can’t,” Harry interrupts, voice breaking.  
“Oh,” Hermione’s face softens. “I thought you’d- never mind. Oh, Harry, you idiot.”  
Harry sinks into his seat, lifting his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around him. He nods slowly and sighs. “I fucked up, Mione.”  
Hermione pats his shoulder. “You need to get out of this hospital, Harry. Go have drinks with Ron or something, it’s not healthy how much time you spend here.”  
Harry nods again. “What if he wakes up and he’s all alone and in pain?”  
“Then I’ll be here. I’m going to work on that pain potion mix so he can take it when he wakes up.”  
“Thank you,” Harry says, already standing. The words that neither have said hang between them.  
Hermione watches as Harry leaves, a crease forming on her forehead as she chews on her lower lip.  
* * *  
The next morning, when Harry comes in, Draco is awake and sitting up. He seems pale and shaky, but he greets Harry’s wave with a small smile.  
“How are you?” Harry asks, settling into the seat next to Draco’s bed.  
“It still hurts,” Draco whispers in a hoarse voice. “But not as bad.”  
There’s something about him now, he seems more vulnerable than before as if the pain had stripped away the last of his walls and left him bleeding and bare. Harry pats the pale hand resting on top of the sheets. “You’ll be okay. Your core had started draining at a higher rate and your body reacted poorly.”  
Draco snorts, something of his old demeanor returning. “‘Reacted poorly’ Merlin, I could barely move!”  
Harry forces a smile. “You’ll have to stop doing any magic. It’s sapping at your strength and right now we need to conserve that as much as possible to give Hermione the time to find the cure.”  
“It’s killing me faster then?”  
“Yes, but you still have plenty of time. There just isn’t much of a chance it’s going to recede.”  
“Oh,” Draco says, focusing on his hands. “And if Granger can’t find the cure in a year? If it takes her two or more?”  
Harry presses his lips together and ignores the question.  
Draco takes his silence as an answer in itself and frowns. Harry can see the tears threatening to spill from behind gray eyes.  
“You’re going to be okay, Draco,” Harry says, reaching out and taking his hand.  
Draco’s head snaps up, a flush starting on his neck and traveling up his face until he’s turned bright red.  
Harry snatches his hand away and blushes as well. He’s never been one for physical boundaries when it comes to his friends, not after spending so much of his childhood touch-starved and lonely. Holding a friend’s hand to comfort them isn’t something he’d usually hesitate over but with Draco, nothing is familiar and he likes him all the better for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find more of my fics on Wattpad under the same name, genderfluidnightmare. I post new chapters of Room 341 every Monday. If you're enjoying this fic, feel free to leave a comment! Thank you!


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